Sleep
by Kate-The-Great-And-Powerful
Summary: A one-shot about Gloss and sleep (a writing prompt for The Hunger Games Roleplay) followed by a series of drabbles about the nightmares of victors. Both canon characters and OCs.
1. Prologue

**AN: I know, I shouldn't be starting new story after new story, but this one is short, all one-shots and drabbles (I've never written a drabble before but I'm up for a challenge!). This one-shot, to start off the story, is written for a prompt for the Hunger Games Roleplay Forum. The prompt was: Gloss and sleep. So, here it is!**

Gloss

Two months had passed since the sixty-seventh Hunger Games. The young victor had settled into his new life, a little less rash and a little more reasonable than before. He knew there were dangers in this new existence. Everyone was watching him, so he proceeded carefully. But nothing Gloss could do would ever stop the nightmares from coming.

That January night it was raining hard. The noise of water on the roof was loud and continuous. And in his bedroom, Gloss was dreaming. But after weeks of the same recurring nightmare, he wasn't prepared for a new vision to surface from his memories.

Thunder crashed, and the seventeen-year-old sat bolt upright in bed. Everything was as black as pitch. The storm raging outside his window couldn't quite drown out the sound of his ragged breathing. He knew he needed to collect himself. So for a long moment, he sat still in the darkness. Admittedly, it was partially because he feared what he would see when he turned on the lights.

Eventually, however, he gave up. Gloss brushed his fingers along the wall, trying to find the switch. And once the lights were on, he found nothing out of place. Gloss ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit. It made him slightly uneasy, the fact that he might have missed something. Maybe the room wasn't _exactly_ the way he had left it. No room for error here.

After wiping his sweaty palms on the covers, Gloss got up from his bed in a snarl of sheets, crumpled by his tossing and turning. He knew the closest phone was downstairs, hanging on the kitchen wall. So Panem's newest victor disentangled himself from the blankets and made his way into the hallway.

The air around him was cold, as was the floor underneath his bare feet. Gloss turned on a tall lamp in the corridor, throwing light onto the polished wood of the staircase. Once, in a panic, he'd run out in the darkness and sent himself flying down the steps. He'd been cautious not to make that mistake again.

The call he made was to his older sister, last year's victor. Many rings later, she answered.

"What is it?" Cashmere's voice was sharp. Gloss looked over at the clock hanging above the kitchen counter. Three fifteen.

"Cash, it's me." The words were quiet. He regretted waking her. But his sister's voice lost its edge immediately.

"Another nightmare." Cashmere was used to Gloss' early calls. And having won the Games a year before her little brother, she was used to the nightmares as well.

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cashmere had recently become an expert at shifting her mood; concealing and controlling her emotions. Whereas Gloss, usually the more composed of the two siblings, had been having trouble keeping himself together since his victory. In fact, his hands still hadn't stopped shaking.

It would make sense for him to tell his sister everything. He always had before. Even his recurring dreams; if something was different, she was the first to know. Not to mention the only to know. But this time, the new victor sealed up his nightmare. It didn't matter. Soon enough, it would be just another dream, cloudy in the back of his mind. What bothered Gloss was that, without a doubt, there would be more.

"Does it stop?" he asked finally. Gloss already knew the answer to this question, but the silence on his sister's end of the line was still unnerving.

"No."

"Well, it has to get _better_ somehow. Doesn't it?" Gloss was intent on finding a light at the end of this tunnel. However long his nightmares would last; however dark they might be, they must lose their impact eventually.

"It depends," said Cashmere after a brief pause, "How well do you remember it? Is the arena..." She thought for a moment. "—hazy, at all? Like a dream."

Gloss' heart sank. Some victors' Games were blurred, even very shortly after their victory. The differences between the Hunger Games and real life became clear and obvious to them. Gloss was envious. The memories from his arena were still fresh in his mind; sharp enough to cut like a blade.

Gloss drew back the blinds on his window. The rain was coming down in sheets. The powdery snow that had once covered the yard had turned into slick, shiny ice. But through the thickness of the storm, he saw a light in the window of the house next door.

Instead of answering his sister's questions, Gloss told her, "Cash, the window." Cashmere's line was quiet again. A silhouette appeared in the window of the other house. Her shadow blocked some of the light shining through.

"Hi, Gloss." The shadow waved. Gloss waved back. There was another pause as Cashmere yawned.

"It helps to talk," she said, turned to her brother as if they were talking face to face. Though he knew she wouldn't have admitted it to anyone, she'd made her share of three AM calls to her brother. And Gloss knew he could count on her.

"It was different this time," the new victor said.

"Different how?" Cashmere's voice was full of concern. It was so unlike her; in clear contrast to the cold and calculating Cashmere Gloss had watched her become. And despite himself, he knew how important it was for neither of the siblings to let their guard down. Not even for a moment, during a phone call at three o' clock in the morning.

"Never mind. It's nothing. Sorry for waking you."

"It's fine." Cashmere's concern hadn't disappeared. It crossed Gloss' mind that maybe some of the Cashmere he once knew was still there. Maybe not everything had changed.

"Bye, Cash."

"Bye."

**I've never written about Cashmere and Gloss before, but I like them! As victors, they have someone they know they can trust, and who somewhat shares the horror of their experiences. I think I might write more about these two in the future.**


	2. Alder: Fire

**So next up, we have the drabbles :) 100 words, not including the title. Here we go! First up is Alder Zane, my OC from The Victor From Twelve. If you have any requests, canon or OC, I'd be happy to write them!**

* * *

**Alder**

He dreamed of fire.

The flames that had engulfed his arena. The conflagration that had nearly ended his life. Burning trees, burning fields. Then the girl from District One would appear, blue-tipped flames crawling up her skinny arms; peeling and charring her pale skin. She would always reach out for him.

_Take my hand._ The flames would creep up to her face, her hair already alight. In the white-hot blaze, her emerald eyes would begin to melt.

_Take my hand!_ The girl would scream, lunging for him.

After that he'd wake up, trying to scream but not making a sound.


	3. Wiress: Clockwork

**I think I'm going to try and alternate canon/OC (until I run out of canons, that is!) Thank you for the wonderful reviews! :)**

* * *

**Wiress**

She dreamed of clockwork.

Cogs turning, fitting together without flaw. She loved to fiddle with these simple gears; inventing things was her talent.

Clocks were fascinating. Everything moved at a constant rhythm. The pieces clicked as they assembled themselves, sank into their persistent routine.

Click, clack. Tick, tock.

It grew louder and louder until suddenly, it stopped.

Silence enveloped her, and she panicked. What had gone wrong? A flicker of movement turned her head towards a smirking Career boy.

Immediately after she woke, she'd forget the nightmare. She'd be lulled back into an uneasy slumber by her softly ticking clock.


End file.
